Rambles of a Mad Russian
by NigelTux
Summary: Sequel to The Inner Thoughts of Super Secret Agent Nigel.
1. Chapter 1

He's not sure why he keeps coming back.

He swore time and time again that every last time would be the last but he always came back to the spy.

Its madness, he knows.

Sucidial.

He's been shot, stabbed, posioned, beatened, drowned, electruted, sufficated, totured. All at the hands of the elder.

Sometimes he allowed himself to believe the emerald eyed man had finally had enough of him- of his antics- and this would be the last time but he always woke agian. Sometimes alone, sometimes with the spy.

They're posionous to each other.

Red knows that, he aknowledges the truth even if Nigel will not.

So why does he keep coming back?

Honestly, the rouge's not sure he even knows why anymore.

The Lust and Anger had all but faded away years ago. Only to be replaced by a peaceful relaxed feeling he couldn't quite descirbe.

Was it love?

Red wasn't sure. He never quite experinced love before and couldn't tell you exactly what it was if it hit him in the face and introduced itself.

Was it need?

Maybe. He needed the spy, both the good and the bad, though he would never admit it to the other.

Wreckless.

It was only a matter of time, he knew that.

So maybe that was why he didn't so much as bat an eye despite the gun barrel pressed firmly against his chest- to his heart if he had one left.

It didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter besides those beautiful emerald eyes staring down at him with such anger, pain and hate.

"Why?"

The anger is clear in the spy's voice despite his attempts to hide it but Red has no answer. What could he possible say when he couldn't tell the truth?

"She... She didn't do anything to you."

And he didn't do anything to her.

The Spy's sister, Luna- one of his few actual friends- had already been dead by time he arrived. Whatever had been on that flashdrive someone obviously didn't want anyone to know.

Maybe if he had arrived the night before like he was susposed to she would still be alive. Her child, his Godson, wouldn't be an orphan.

But he didn't.

Maybe he had killed her?

Not dirrectly, but still she could have been alive if he had followed his normal plan. Maybe they wold both be dead instead?

There was no real way of telling but it would appear it wouldn't matter soon enough.

He had no answers for Nigel.

What did one say in a moment like this?

Was there anything to say?


	2. Chapter 2

He should be dead.

There was no way he slhould have been able to survive a bullet at that range not where the spy was aimming.

So why was he here?

Laying on some forest floor gasping soflty as he forced his body to move despite the pain echoeing through his being and the darker than normal crimson stain surrounding a quater size hole in his jacket.

It hurts to breathe but he has to.

He can't stay here.

He tries to stand but this body doesn't want to listen as a sharp pain shoots down his spine.

He doesn't scream despite the agony coursing through his body.

Screaming would only attract predators. Instead sharp nails dig into the permafrozen soil as the rouge curls in on himself until the pain passes.

Then and only then does he forces his body to comply and pushes hismelf to his feet.

Every step is agongy, every breath is toxic, but he has to keep moving.

If he doesn't Red knows he'll freeze to death, become some predator's lunch or worst:

Nigel may return.

The elder was likely digging a shallow grave now to throw him into.

If he even bothered that is.

For all the rouge knew the spy had dumped his body here in hopes the wildlife would devour it and save him both the time and effort.

He should be mad, his rational mind tells him.

For once he was innocent but Nigel had shot him anyway.

All these years, all those moments together...

He should be furious that the other would believe him guilty without anything by circumstantial evidence.

Yet Red can't find it within himself to do so.

He wasn't mad.

He wasn't angry.

He was just...

Numb.

Maybe it was the snow beginning to fall once more?

Maybe it was the blood, seeping down his being and into the frozen soil with every breathe he took?

Maybe it was the fact he had known from the start that they where setting theirselves up for disaster?

Maybe it was just his natural response to pain?

To turn numb and injure it all- both physical and mental.

There was no real way to know.

It didn't matter though.

At this point, nothing but survival did.

 _The Russian was practically delirious with fever by time he stubbed upon the small, snow blanketed village of Painswick._


	3. Chapter 3

_The Russian was practically delirious with fever by time he stubbed upon the small, snow blanketed village of Painswick._

He usually avoided churches but since the last thing he could recall was collapsing into the snow Red highly doubted he had walked in here of his own will.

Someone had likely fount him and brought him here since all churches where considered sanctuary- a place of peace and rest to all.

Despite that he doesn't feel safe here.

He doesn't belong here but he's too weak to leave.

He can't even move his fingers- despite his best efforts they won't even twitch- let alone manage to sit up.

He hates it.

Hates feeling so weak, unable to defend himself should anything happen.

Loathes the sense of vulnerability that comes with the knowledge that anyone could just waltz in and kill him.

But there's not much he can do about it right now.

All he can really do is stare at the wodden ceiling above his head and wait patiently for his mind to drift back into the dark abyss known as sleep.

Thankfully the sweet release of sleep comes sooner than he expected as the rouge finds himself drifting off only minutes after waking.

It was weeks before he could leave Painswick on his own two feet.

Moths before he crossed paths with Nigel again.

The Spy's rage seemed to have calmed with time but the anger - the looks of betrayal- was still there.

The playful taunts and teasing look within those emerald jewels had been replaced with harsh words and a glare of stone. Each move was meant to maim and every word- every gesture- meant to cut him down.

Red had little doubt that vengence was the only thing on the elder's mind.

Victories became empty and hollow. Losing was never an option but now was less of one. And being Captured was a Nightmare.

Appearently he didn't deserve to die.

He deserved to suffer.

And suffer he does.

He's not sure which hurts more:

The blade as it cuts into his skin

or

The fact its _his_ spy wielding the blade with a satisfied gleam in his eyes that only grows with every cut he makes.

He wants to be angry at the spy but he still can't find it within himself to do so.

The guilt of Luna's death weighs down on him more than the spy could ever guess. Its his fault, he knows that now that he had a chance to actually look on the USB drive.

All his fault.

Maybe if he had never told her about his suspicions she wouldn't have dared to dig so deep and paid the ultimate price.

He killed Luna.

He orphaned his Godson.

That knowledge hurts him more than any weapon ever could.

So Red doesn't make a sound, no matter how angry it make Nigel or how much force the elder adds to the blade as it cuts into his face, his chest, arms, legs, stomach, back.

Why should he?

He deserves it and so much more.


	4. Chapter 4

The rouge's unsure of when he finally allowed the anger and hate to seep back in.

To course through his veins like an unholy fire that would never be extinguished.

To burn like a raging inforno from within.

He knows he shouldn't subcum to it.

That he should fight the urge ,for his own sake, if no one else.

But he doesn't.

Even as it all but devours him, Red finds he doesn't want it to stop.

He wants the fire, the pain, the anger and the hate.

He wants the rage.

And most importabatly he wants revenge.

Revenge not for himself but for a woman who could never achieve it herself.

For once, he's no longer numb.

 _Revenge was a specaility._

Killing is easy. Too easy at times.

He loves the thrill and that sense of power that fills him as he hold another's life in his hands.

He enjoys their futitle struggles and pleas.

That brief moment of hope that if they complay with his demands they may walk out alive.

They never do.

If he wasn't already aware of his insanity he might have been worried but as it was Red just stood, leaving the cooling corspe on the floor, as he looked over a heisty written list of names.

Wavery Sutton

Darwin Soames

Lucas Tattersall

Howard Winterbourne

Edsel Anderton

Ridely Marston

Edger Marlowe

No one really important, the Russian could tell with just a glance that these where pawns on the chess board but even pawns had their value.

Who knew with luck maybe one of the pawns would be a hidden bishop of information just waiting to be discovered.

Seems he would be busy for a while.

* * *

The bodycount was raising and somehow each victims was worse then the last.

Emerald eyes moved away from the recently discovered corspe, unable to contirnue looking at the man who had been gutting and hung by his own internals.

It seems the russian had snapped back into their game and was wasting no time in forcing the ball to roll once more.

To be honest the spy wasn't quiet sure how that made him feel.

A part of him was still raging with anger and betrayal that these actions only caused to grow while another part of him was happy.

Twelve victims in six days and here he was feeling happy, pleased even.

He wished he could claim it was becaus he wanted to destory the younger while she was at his best but it wasn't.

He was happy the rouge was alive and at his best.

Even after the russian's betrayal- after all they had both done to each other since that day- he couldn't help but care- even if it was only a small piece of him buried under the hatred that all but consumed him with a need for vengeance.

God Damn it.

He would have to do something about that later but for now he had a mssion to focus on.


	5. Chapter 5

He was angry.

Scratch that. He was furrious.

Even now after he had put a hole in the other's chest and dumped the body, Nigel couldn't rid himself of the sense of betrayal.

Of rage, resisment, sorrow.

How had this happened?

If not for the hatchling sleeping on his couch, the spy was likely to have thrown a temper worthy of a diva as he wrecked everything he owned in his rage.

Why?

Why, God Damn it?!

Red and Luna had always gotten along before.

What could have possibly had led them up to this?

Why would Red...

Did all these years mean nothing to the younger?

Had they not been enough?

Was it nothing more than a game to him?

Was there another reason?

Why?

The spy questions but no one answers.

It didn't matter in the long run though. They where both dead now.

He had killed Red, just like he always knew he would.

When the anger cools and the alcohol has long sense faded from his system all thats left is the pain.

Why?

He wants answers but there's no one left to ask.

* * *

The Killings start up again.

He knows who is behind it, even if it is impossible.

He would always recognize the younger's handiwork.

The body count skyrockets. The Russian is looking for something, of that the spy is certain.

But what?

And more importantly why?

* * *

Wavery Sutton

Small Town Chief

Darwin Soames

Business Man

Lucas Tattersall

Criminal Lawyer

Howard Winterbourne

Mafia

Edsel Anderton

Assassin

Ridely Marston

Scientist

Edger Marlowe

APA Agent

Jessica Alumni

MI6 Spy

Complete strangers as far as the world is concerned.

They should have nothing in common, yet they do.

Each and every one of them has had some sort of contract with one of the most esteemed World Conceal Members.

Each one of them had apparently done the man a favor.

Each one had died at the same hand.

* * *

He's at another Gruesome Murder Scene when he swears he sees a flash of red..

Standing the spy rushes after it, darting through the crowds as though his life depends on it, but there is nothing.

There is no one.

It is nothing more then an illusion in his mind.

A broken hope for a dead man.

He's beginning to have doubts about the Russian being behind the killings.

The younger was never the sort to leave lipstick stains upon his victims.

* * *

For the White Widow, the rouge haired man was an old friend and a childhood crush she never quite managed to break.

So she's joyous when Red tracks her down and asks her for a favor.

The Russian never seeks her out.

Never asks her for anything.

Maybe it was because they both knew what her price would be?

Yet he stands before her; that stunning golden eye as sharp and cold as it had been when they where children.

Killing a man is easy.

Far too easy for her.

As always she leaves her calling card, a lipstick kiss on the body.

* * *

When they finally catch the Widow she doesn't say anything.

She sits behind the integration table for hours as their integrators slowly give up one after another, her smile never waning.

She's happy and that alone is enough to send set off all of the spy's mental alarms.

"Why?'

He finally takes the chance of asking himself. Widow tilts her head slight, crimson eyes staring out from beneath the curtain of white hair as her smile grows, showing off sharp canines.

"He came to me and asked me for a favor."

The spy's mouth feels dry as emerald eyes pierced the woman before him.

"Who?"

Honestly, Nigel wasn't quite sure he wanted to know.

"Your Ghost."


End file.
